Danny Boy
by RoyoNobus
Summary: Oz has lost everything. He has no family, no friends, and no direction. That changes when a psychic demon offers him the one thing he needs: a reason to fight. Oz must now maintain the balance between good and evil, and prevent the apocalypse. No big.
1. The Offer

**AN: For the purposes of this story, everything through Season four is canon. Everything else is up for grabs, including Season one of Angel. I own nothing that you'd recognize from the show including characters, locations, and dialogue. I do own original characters as well as the mythology of this story. That said, I hope you enjoy. Please read and review. **_  
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><p><em>~Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? Nah. The big moments are gonna come, you can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are. You'll see what I mean.~<em>

The temple itself was not so large. An open room with a golden idol of some many armed deity at its head, calmly observing the boy in the center of the room. On the balcony above, six men stared at the boy, silently plotting their attack strategy. Rather than overwhelm him with their numbers, they chose to try and tire him out with successive attacks.

He knew they were there. His eyes were closed as he sat cross-legged on the shining wood floor. He could smell them though. He could smell their positions, their motions, and their anticipation of the coming fight. He continued to sit, to meditate.

The first man jumped down landing directly in front of the boy. As soon as he landed, however, his legs were swept out from under him as the boy lashed out a leg, spinning as he stood up. The man landed with a hard thud on the floor.

_One down._

The next attack came from behind him. The man managed to lock his arms around the boy's neck before he was flipped over, landing just as hard as his comrade.

The next two attacks followed similarly, beginning with a flying man, followed by a fighting boy, and ending with a man on the ground. The boy's next attacker, however, proved to be more of a challenge. This one faced him head on, throwing punches relentlessly. The boy could barely keep up as he swatted away the flurry of blows aimed at his face, chest, and torso. He started to tire when he noticed that the man swung wide with his left hook, leaving his flank completely open. He blocked one punch, ducked the left hook, elbowed the man's side, and swept his legs, sending him crashing to the ground.

_That's five_.

The final man leapt down from the balcony brandishing a curved sword in either hand. He looked at the boy and grinned. "You have fought well," he said calmly.

"Your boys didn't really put up much of a fight," the boy parried.

"Is that so? Your labored breathing then, that is an intimidation technique?"

"Look I'm not one for talking in general so, mid-fight banter, really not my thing. How 'bout you just show me what you got?"

With that the man smiled as his five fallen companions stood. They gathered around him and suddenly turned and left the building. "Here endeth the lesson," said the man with the swords and followed the rest out.

The boy stood his ground for a moment and then collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily. _Freakin' monks, _he thought. Suddenly, he heard clapping. He glanced around the cavernous room but couldn't identify the source. Shortly, a small man in a black fedora, black blazer, and a bright blue shirt stepped out from behind a pillar.

"Geez that was really somethin'. I gotta tell you I thought for sure something crazy was gonna happen with sword guy over there." The man exuded an air of what the boy could only describe as a sort of self-righteous dickishness.

"Who are you?" asked the boy, standing up. He could have said something more, like 'who the fuck are you' or possibly made some clever quip. But he felt that his question summed up what he wanted to know.

"Name's Whistler," said the man, smiling. "At least lately it is. My real name's kinda tough to pronounce, unless you're a dolphin. You a dolphin Danny boy?"

"It's Oz," corrected the boy. "And no."

"That's right, you don't turn into a squeaky little sea critter every month do ya?" Whistler began pacing around Oz, making him feel more than a little uncomfortable. "No, you turn into a big ol' beastie. Or at least you did until you came here."

Oz just stared. He had arrived at the monastery a few months ago. In that short time, he had learned how to suppress the wolf and hone its power in his fighting. The monks would often spar with him in the manner that they did today, but he had never actually defeated them until now. He had no idea how it was that the man standing in front of him could have known all that.

"So, the big bad wolf runs off to Tibet so he can go back to just being plain old Danny. Maybe even win back little red riding hood right? But then what? You and the witch grow old together, maybe raise your two and a half kids in a house with a white picket fence…on a hellmouth? How far ahead you thinkin' here Danny boy?"

"You know all about me then," Oz said thinking. "I'd go out on a limb and say you're not human."

"A demon," Whistler said with a cocky smile, "technically. I mean I'm not a bad guy…but I won't bore you with the whole spiel. That's not why I'm here."

"And why would that be?" Oz asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"I'm here for you," Whistler explained. "Look, I used to be like you man. Conflicted. Not sure where to go or who to turn to. Matter of fact, I didn't have nobody to turn to. No friends, no family, no path."

"Who says I don't have those things?" Oz said, his voice not betraying the anger he was beginning to feel.

"Look at yourself. You abandoned everything you have to go halfway around the world. Not the kind of thing you do if you've got a direction. So enter your friend Whistler to give you one."

Oz stared at the demon. He wasn't entirely correct. Oz knew that it wasn't much but he still had hope for one path. Regardless of this remote possibility, he wanted to hear what more Whistler had to say.

Seeing that waiting for a reply would prove fruitless, Whistler continued. "I'm offering you the thing that everybody dreams about. What I do, is I help maintain the balance between good and evil in this world. And trust me, that son of a bitch needs maintenance. I'm talkin' big time. That's where you come in. The people I work for—well they're not people exactly—but they're always lookin' for new recruits to the cause. You help us out, you travel the globe, stop the evil, and you live forever. That's my propostion."

Oz was surprised to say the least. Here he was standing in a temple in Tibet, with a demon offering him immortality. Whistler was right. He had given up everything that he had. There was nothing tying him to his life anymore, not really. He was seriously considering flat-out accepting the offer, when he remembered why he had given it all up in the first place. The one thing he had in this world that he could truly look forward to. The only thing that made him strive to keep going.

_Willow._

He knew that if there was even the slightest chance that they could ever be together again, he could not sacrifice that, even for immortality. He took a deep breath and looked Whistler in the eye.

"I can't," he said. "I-I just can't…"

Whistler feigned disappointment. Of course he had been expecting this response. Most of the times that he had seen their conversation, Oz replied this way. But he also knew what came next. So he didn't give up.

"The offer stands," Whistler said. "You ever change your mind, decide to do some real good in the world, I can hook you up." He began to quickly walk out of the temple.

"How will I know how to reach you?" Oz yelled after him. He didn't want to ask it. He didn't want to admit to himself that it might come to that, but there was always the chance that he may need to take up the demon's offer.

"I won't be far," Whistler called back without turning around, and disappeared from view.

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><p>"I fully understand," nodded the monk who had, hours earlier, stood against Oz holding twin blades. The swords were now resting on the wall behind him. "I had hoped that we could continue your training. You are, by far, one of the best students I have ever had the pleasure of teaching. But I do believe I have taught you all I can."<p>

"Thank you Brother Lann, for everything," Oz said, bowing.

"I only regret that we never had the chance to test your mettle against mine," he smiled, gesturing to the weapons behind him. Oz smiled in return. "Return to the hellmouth young wolf. You are ready."

Oz thanked the monk again, bowed and ran from the monastery. He smiled as he reached the private jet the monks had prepared for his departure. He was finally ready to go home.


	2. Home

Oz sat in his van, staring out the windshield. It had been nearly half an hour since his talk with Willow and he was still just sitting there. He had expected to feel numb, just as he had when he caught her with Xander. He thought that he would just feel lost and emotionless when she let him go. But what he felt was so much worse. He had put on a brave face, pretended he was happy for her, when all the time the wolf had been howling inside of him, screaming for him to let it free. He could practically feel it clawing away at his insides.

He saw that it had been a mistake to leave Brother Lann and the other monks so soon. There was so much he didn't know about the wolf; so much he still could not control. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a flask filled with vile smelling liquid, and took a gulp. He took a charm from his pocket, held it to his eyes, and began chanting as the monks had taught him. Soon, he felt the wolf calming. He waited a few minutes until it subsided entirely and then put the keys in the ignition.

He paused. He realized that he was now at the point he had been dreading. He had nowhere to go, nobody to turn to. He decided there was only one place he could go. And he had to go there, so they had to take him in.

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><p>"Mom," he called, as he entered the house. It was quiet there. But, as always, it was warm and smelled like baking bread. It smelled like home. "Dad, I'm here. I'm home…"<p>

He heard the sound of heeled shoes from upstairs. A middle aged, matronly woman with blonde hair and an expression of disbelief appeared at the top of the stairs. She looked down at him.

"Oz?" she asked, hardly believing her own eyes. "Oh my goodness Oz!" she ran down the stairs as fast as her shoes would allow her. When she reached the bottom she ran toward the boy and swept him into an enormous hug. "Oz, dear we've missed you so much."

"I know Mom," he said, almost crying as he did. As stoic as he was in public, he was always able to be himself with his parents. "But I'm here now. I'm home."

"You are," she confirmed, drawing away from him but still keeping her hands firmly on his shoulders. With the shoes she had on, she able to look down at him ensuring that he would be too intimidated to answer her questions falsely. "But for how long this time? I can't imagine this is a permanent visit…"

Oz let out a sigh. Nobody else on the planet could read him this easily. "No, it's not," he admitted. "I only came to see if Willow would take me back and she..." he paused, drawing a deep breath but it was no use. He began to sob openly.

"Shh, shh, it's okay dear, it's okay," she said, drawing him back into an embrace and rubbing her hand comfortingly on his back. After a few moments he was alright. When he did succumb to a need for a strong expression of emotion, it rarely lasted long. Especially with his mother by his side.

He looked up, wanting to change the subject. "Is Dad here?" he asked. "And Devon? I want to see them before I leave."

His mother shook her head. "Allan is on a business trip in Phoenix, he only left this morning," she said apologetically. His heart dropped. "And Devon is living in L.A. now. He's dating a model." Her voice was laced with venom as she pronounced the last word.

"What about the other Dingoes?" Oz asked, still hopeful that something in his life was just as he had left it.

"Honey," she said putting a hand on his shoulder, "the band split around the same time you did. They couldn't really keep it up without you."

His heart sank further. Nothing was the same anymore. In the span of a few months it seemed that the whole of Sunnydale had undergone a total transformation. The town wasn't his home anymore. He felt as though nothing but the house he was standing in and the woman he was standing next to had remained the same. He sat down on the steps; elbows resting on his knees with his fingers running through his hair.

His mother sat down next to him. "I'm sorry Oz,' she said, sensing the source of his trouble. "But I don't think you really expected it to be the same here. Deep down I think you knew that this town must have gone through a lot since you left. You did too after all."

He looked up at her questioningly. He hadn't yet told her anything about his trip. She smiled and pointed out the window up to the sky. "Night after the full moon, dear. I guess even you haven't been tracking them that closely." She winked. Every month on the three wolf moons since Oz left she sat looking out of the window, wondering how he was coping.

He laughed. He had been keeping track of course but, with all the excitement of the last few days, it had slipped his mind somewhat. He sighed and stood up, not sure what the purpose of this gesture had been.

"Where will you go?" she asked. "Will you leave us an address this time?" He smiled at her and took out a piece of paper with a cellphone number written on it and handed it to her. She nodded and took it from him and then rose to hug him once more. "My boy. My sweet, sweet boy. You've grown so much." She looked at him and placed a hand on his cheek. "Your parents would be so proud."

He took the hand that was on his cheek and held it in his own. "You raised me since before I can remember," he started, once again holding back tears. "You took me in when I was eight years old and gave me everything that I have today. You and Dad made me who I am. You _are _my parents."

Barbara MacLeish embraced her foster son for a final time and began to cry. The two stood, hugging and crying for a while until Oz pulled away. "I have to go Mom," he said, and began to move toward the door. "I don't know where but I have to go."

"I know," she said nodding. "Go. But Oz…" he turned from the door to look at the woman who raised him one last time. "Be safe," she said tears still in her eyes. He nodded and left the house. As far as he knew, he would never see his mother, this house, or even this town ever again.

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><p>He didn't know exactly where to go, so his first instinct was to return to the campus. He had left a few things on the grounds that he needed to pick up before going…wherever it was he was going to go. Given the wolf moon, his senses were heightened so he was upset when a familiar figure somehow managed to sneak up on him in the dark.<p>

"So how'd it go?" asked Whistler. His neon green shirt and leopard print tie made him stand out even in the darkness.

Oz regarded him for a moment. "Somehow, I think you already know the answer to that question," he said coldly.

"Whoah now, Danny boy," he said, taking a step back and throwing his hands up dramatically. "What's with the hostility? I didn't do nothin' to hurt ya. Matter of fact, nobody did. But the world went and changed on you while you were out, didn't it? Kinda hard to take in, huh?"

Oz's face remained blank. He knew what was coming, and he knew what his answer would be, but he wasn't going to make the first move. Whistler sensed his hesitation and smirked.

"You given any thought to my offer yet?" he asked feigning genuine curiosity. Oz just stared at him. "Of course you know I know the answer to that too. But I wanna hear it from you Danny boy. I want you to say it."

Oz didn't move a muscle.

"Look in there," Whistler said, pointing to the window directly behind Oz. He obliged and was immediately met with an arrow through the heart. Without realizing it, he had stopped outside of Tara's dorm. The girl his ex had turned him down for was lying in bed with her arms wrapped around his former lover. He fell to the ground clutching his chest. The wolf wanted desperately to be freed. "You need my help if you don't want that beastie tearin' at your innards every time you think of red in there. You need me Osbourne."

Oz looked up at him, the wolf quieting somewhat, apparently intrigued by his point. "I could go back to the monks," he said. "Who says you're the guy I need?"

Whistler shook his head. "You go back to the monks to do what? Study the way of the wolf for another few years? In the meantime, the world keeps on turning but you're not really a part of it. Nothing you're doing is making a difference in anybody's life but your own." Oz was staring at the ground now. Was he really being selfish just by trying to control his wolf? By isolating himself from society, he was saving people, but he wasn't really helping anyone. Whistler knelt down and looked him in the eye. "You gotta understand what I'm offering you here. I'm offering you a reason to exist. Something to fight for. You can make a real difference in everybody's lives now. Buddy you can save the fuckin' world!" Whistler frowned and stood up again. "Or, you could go on back to Tibet, and spend who knows how long learning to become more useless than you already are."

Oz stood as well. "Your sales pitch could use some work," he said. Whistler remained silent. "I'll do it," he said finally. "I'll join you."

Whistler grinned. "There, now was that so hard," he said and then snapped his fingers. At once, Oz felt a surge of energy rushing through him. First, it flowed through him, hitting his chest and exiting his back. Then, he felt it coursing through his veins. He was lifted a foot off the ground as a soft, white light emanated from every pore of his body. As quickly as it had started, however, it ended and Oz fell to the ground. He stood up quickly, feeling very energized and all he could think to say was: "Wow."

"Yeah don't worry, the feeling wears off," said Whistler. ""Be kinda hard to battle evil if we were buzzed all the time. That's from the immortality. Feels way different don't it?" All Oz could do was nod. "Here, I wanna check out your powers real quick."

"Powers?" Oz asked, trying to hide his excitement.

"Well, yeah. Ya know, powers of prognostication and all that junk. We have to prevent the end of the world here! That means we gotta see it coming. You gotta be able to know something's future just by looking at it. It's different for all of us though. Me, for example. I get visions when I sleep. I see a bunch of different outcomes for the future. They're clear but I don't know which one is gonna come to pass. I know this girl Sally, who's like us. Nice girl, kinda homely. Anyway she knows exactly whats gonna happen all the time 'cause she sees it written in mirrors. But the girl locked herself in a cage, ate the key, and only talks in riddles. You know, different."

Oz raised an eyebrow. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't end up spouting nonsense from a cage, but he did want to find out what his power was. "How do I test it?" he asked eagerly.

"Look in there," Whistler said, once again pointing at Tara's dorm room window. Oz took a deep breath and turned to look. "Tell me what you sense, and how you sense it. Tell me what you feel about those two in there. Ignore the wolf, it's just a distraction. Focus on them, not on what they did to you."

Oz looked into the window breathing heavily, trying to combat the wolf. Suddenly he smelled something. It was nothing he had ever smelled before but he immediately knew what it was. "Power," he said. "I smell it. There's power there."

Whistler smiled and nodded. "Good. But there's more. What else can you, er, smell?"

Oz inhaled deeply. "It's not just the power that they have as individuals," he said, not sure what about the smell was making him say that. "There's power in their relationship. In their…" He couldn't bring himself to say the last word.

"In their love," Whistler finished for him.

Oz nodded. "It's the kind of power that could really change the world," he said definitively. Barely able to take any more he turned and walked back toward his van without a word to Whistler.

The demon held back a second, still looking at the two witches through the window. "Change the world, yeah," he said to himself. "Or destroy it…" He turned away and followed Oz to the van.


	3. A History Lesson

**AN: To those of you who have been reading thank you. To those of you have favorited and subscribed thank you very much. To those of you who have reviewed THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU! Sorry for not updating in a while, real life was starting to catch up with me. I want to thank InstigateInsanity for his particularly kind review which convinced to get off my lazy ass (or more accurately back on it) and actually write another chapter. Enjoy.**

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><p>It was four thirty in the morning and Oz had been driving for hours. Whistler had dismissed his suggestion of driving in shifts on the grounds that his "license isn't valid in this dimension." Instead, he was lying in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dash and his dark purple fedora cocked down over his eyes.<p>

Oz was too polite to play his music while Whistler slept but he felt like the silence was killing him. It didn't help that he had so many questions for the demon. What had Oz become? What kind of demon is Whistler? How did they make money to live off of? And, most importantly, where were they going right now?

"Take the next exit," Whistler said suddenly, startling Oz. He considered arguing with the demon since his eyes were still covered and he couldn't possibly know which exit was next. But he decided against it, figuring it was best just to do what Whistler told him. At least for the time being.

A little less than a mile later, Oz shifted into the right lane and took the ramp off. The exit led to what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. On the left side of the road, Oz saw a shitty-looking motel called the "Sands of Time Motel" with the neon "M" of "Motel" flickering in a clichéd manner. On the right was a fairly large and empty field with a few picnic tables scattered here and there. The whole area looked as though it had been ravaged by time but relatively untouched by human hands.

"Motel," Whistler said simply. Without a word Oz pulled into the motel parking lot and turned off the ignition. There were only two other cars on the lot and Oz assumed at least one must have belonged to the manager.

"Not a whole lot of traffic around here I guess," he observed. Whistler didn't respond, instead walking out of the van and slamming the door behind him. Oz raised an eyebrow but decided to simply keep quiet and follow his demonic mentor.

They entered the motel which smelled like cigarettes and urine as motels are wont to smell. Cobwebs covered every inch of the horrific peach-colored walls, and every step sent dust flying up from the shaggy grey carpeting. Behind the front desk sat a decrepit looking old man whose hair appeared to have migrated away from the top of his head to now rest exclusively on the bottom of his face. His beard was so long that Oz could not see where it ended from behind the desk. The old man looked up as they approached and furrowed his brow seemingly confused as to why anyone would enter an establishment such as this.

The two of them stood at the front desk and looked at the old man but he simply regarded them through narrowed eyelids. "Room for two," Whistler said, breaking the palpable silence.

The old man continued to stare at them with the same expression. "Nineteen dollars a night," he said, licking his lips as he did. Oz was very unsettled by the man.

Suddenly, he realized that he didn't even have any money on him. He tapped Whistler on the shoulder. "Hey, do you have any money, I'm tapped." Whistler shook his head, still staring at the old man. "Well, what are we gonna do?" Oz asked apprehensively. He almost didn't want to know what Whistlers plan was.

The old man's eyes narrowed further. "No money, no room," he said forcefully. When Whistler didn't budge the old man stood up and shouted "No money, no—"

The old man's eyes widened. He looked down at the hand of the man who had just shoved something very sharp into his chest, and then up at the man's face. There he found no remorse. Oz was horrified. He was about to shout something, to scream at Whistler, exclaiming that if this was how they got around, he no longer wanted to be a part of whatever it was he was now a part of. He was so taken aback that it was a second before he could think of anything to say, and in that second the old man turned to dust. Whistler pocketed his stake and reached behind the desk, retrieving a set of keys. He turned around and dangled the keys in front of Oz with a grin on his face. "Room for two?" he quipped.

Oz was still in shock and simply stood for a moment with his mouth open. Whistler began to walk down the hallway to the left and Oz quickly rushed after him.

"Shouldn't I have been able to smell that that guy was a vampire?" he asked, deciding on this question out of the multitudes he had because of its relative simplicity.

"Nah," Whistler responded shaking his head. "It wasn't that important. You haven't developed your powers yet so I'm guessing you can only sense the strong stuff. Ya know, end of the world type stuff." He stopped in front of room 16, inserting the key and turning the knob as he did so. They entered the room which was just as disgusting as would be expected based on the quality of the rest of the motel.

"In that case, why could you sense it?" Oz asked as he made his way around the room, looking for some piece of furniture he would be comfortable resting on without the aid of a hazmat suit.

"Saw it in a dream while I was sleeping in the van," Whistler responded, immediately dropping himself onto one of the beds and sending up an enormous cloud of dust as he did so. "Very comfy seats in that thing by the way." Oz nodded contemplating just sleeping in the van for the night. "Guess the PTB just wanted us staying at this motel for whatever reason. Hell I ain't complainin'," Whistler continued, shifting around in his bed. Oz regarded him with disgust.

"I'm somehow thinking this place didn't rate so high in the Triple A guide," Oz said, wiping a layer of dust off the night table. "Or in the health inspector's report."

Whistler laughed. "Buddy this is the good life. Odds are the fanciest place we stay for the next couple of months is gonna be a nice comfy storm drain. Enjoy it while you can."

Oz ignored the demon's obviously hyperbolic humor; his interest was piqued by another part of that sentence. "What's in the next couple of months?" he asked.

Whistler shrugged. "Beats the fuck outta me," he said. "That's what you and me gotta find out. Somethin's definitely brewing in the lower worlds. that's why I recruited you when I did. Don't know what, don't know when, but somethin' bad's gonna happen and it's up to us to stop it."

"Who's us?" Oz asked.

"Well that'd be you and me Danny boy," Whistler said simply.

"No, I mean, who are we? What is it that we—" he paused, thinking, "what did I become a part of?"

Whistler smiled. "We're Agents bud." Oz sat down on the opposite bed, eager to hear more. Ever the performer, Whistler was more than happy to speak to an audience he was sure wouldn't interrupt.

"I'm sure you know some of the story. In the beginning, you had the Powers. The Powers created Good and Evil. Simple enough. You got the major players on both sides. The Good guys are the Heroes and the Evil ones are Villains. Most of the dimensions had one winning out over the other giving you your heavenly dimensions versus your hell dimensions. Now, this world was overrun by a nasty brand of Villains called demons. War, violence, all that was rampant in this dimension. But the Powers weren't happy with that. They didn't feel that this world was right for Evil. So they made man. Not Good, not Evil, man was a weak and ingenious race. The demons ignored them, thinking they were too far beneath their notice to be given any thought. But man still feared the demons. So they harnessed primal magicks to create a warrior who could fight them. Yadda yadda, that's the slayer, pure demons die all demons that walk the Earth are tainted, you know how it is.

"Here's where we come in. After the forces of Evil were subdued or whatever, the forces of Good started to take over the planet. But the PTB didn't like that either. They realized that they needed to balance the forces of Good and Evil on this planet. Both had to exist, but neither could take control over the other. So they decided to make us. Agents of Good and Evil. Our sole purpose is to make sure those scales are balanced. The two sides are always at war so we don't gotta worry about starting any big things, just preventing them. Guys like you and me, we're the Good guys. We gotta stop the Big Bads from destroying the world and stuff like that. Then, of course, you got the Evil Agents who gotta stop the forces of Good from destroying all Evil.

"Here's the catch. There's guidelines involved. We call them The Rules. The Rules can't be broken no matter what. The Rules say that we can't get directly involved in the apocalypses we're trying to stop. We're working in a strictly advisory capacity here. We can fight the vamps and the things that go bump in the night. I can kill that vamp at the desk back there. But we _cannot _fight the Big Bad. The thing that's actually doing the world destroying. We get the visions, we tell the visions to the Heroes, and we get the hell out. We can stick around to watch but we can't do the fighting. For now, that's all you gotta know. We clear on all that?"

Oz nodded. His mind was reeling. Nodding was all he could manage. He had never completely understood the history of this dimension; Giles wasn't the best at explaining information to the layman. But now he understood. He understood the world and he understood his role in it. He _had _a role in it. That was something he had always wanted but never quite found. A purpose. A concrete reason to fight.

Whistler looked at him, knowing exactly what was going through his mind despite his blank expression. He smiled. "Alright, now get some sleep, you've had enough life changing revelations for one day." He reached over to the nightstand and turned off the lamp.

Oz lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing there was no way he was going to sleep after being confronted with this information. In the dark, a thought occurred to him. "Whistler?" he said.

"Yeah man," came the reply.

"There's Good and Bad Agents," he stated.

"Yeah man."

"I'm just thinking," he said contemplatively, "there must be cooler names than that."

Whistler chuckled. "Yeah there are actually. We call 'em Good and Bad or Evil Agents, but the technical, ancient, mystical name for 'em is færies and dæmons. You like that better?"

Oz laughed. "I'm good."

"Alright then, good night." Whistler said. "Færie…"


	4. Training Day

**AN: So very sorry for the lack of updates, you know how life is. I was spurred into action cuz I was reading BtVS comics and some of them were so dumb and out of canon that I felt I needed to return to the writing scene. Anyway, this chapter is a bit of a stray from the norm. It's first person, present tense, Oz's perspective. I will be doing this periodically, when I feel it is artistically appropriate. You'll be able to tell because it'll all be in italics and it'll just be obvious. Plus I'll probably say so in the AN beforehand anyway. Enjoy and pleeease review!**_  
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><p><em>I open my eyes with a start. My heart is racing. It always is. Every time I have this dream I wake up the same way. Sweaty, shaking, and terrified. Not terrified for myself, I'm never the one in danger. Terrified for my friends. Terrified <em>of _myself. It's always the same, I chase them through Sunnydale High and I tear them apart. One. By. One. Buffy, Xander, Giles, Cordelia, Willow…_

_Willow. Even now it hurts my heart to think of her. Whatever path I'm on, I'm on it because of her. Everything I've gone through is because of her; because of what she does to me. Because of what I did to her…_

_The wolf is inside me, all the time. I said those words to her before I left the first time. They have never felt truer than in the last few weeks. God, I can feel it. The beast is clawing at me from the inside. I can't fight it; I can only fend it off. I think this whole immortality deal has only made it stronger. After all, it's the one that wears the demonic pants in the family._

_I turn my head. Whistler is still passed out on the other bed. I sit up and it sends a sharp pain through my back. I should've slept in the van after all. I've stayed in some nasty places on tour with Dingoes but I think this shithole takes the bedbug-ridden cake._

_I manage to get myself out of bed. At some point during the night it appears I managed to take my shirt off, as I'm standing in the room with only my sweatpants. I take another look at Whistler. He seems pretty much out for the count so I guess this is as good a time as any to put in some morning calisthenics. I check the digital clock which seems to indicate that the time is 17:h1 a.m. so I'll just have to trust that it's still fairly early in the morning._

_I hold my breath on the way out of the motel so as not to accidentally inhale old-innkeeper dust. I walk out into the cool morning air. The sun is barely visible over the horizon. The minimal breeze is evaporating the perspiration on my bare torso, cooling me that much more. I close my eyes and inhale deeply as the chilling sensation spreads down my spine. I open my eyes and shoot off at a full blown sprint. The gravel is cool and jagged beneath my bare feet and I revel in the feeling. Being outdoors in the early morning provides a wonderful barrage of sensory experiences. I love to feel. It's not that I enjoy pain or anything creepy like that, I just enjoy feeling. Having total sensory awareness that I am, in fact, alive is exhilarating._

_I'm across the road now and into the grassy field, my pace never faltering, my feet pushing on through the dewy morning grass. I am on a direct collision course with one of the wooden picnic tables. I wait until I am a full foot from it to push off the ground and I clear it with room to spare. When I land, I keep running. At the edge of the field is a dense wood, and the wolf can't resist such a homey and inviting environment. I increase my speed ever so slightly, not yet at a loss for breath or energy. I reach the tree line and jump, grabbing a branch just within my reach. I pull myself up, and then grab hold of another branch._

_The monastery in Tibet had a training course with a tall pole that had branches extending out of it in different directions. Unlike most animals, the werewolf doesn't have an aversion to heights. I, er, it can't get enough of heights, in fact. There's something empowering about having a panoramic view of what was, only minutes previously, a narrow area. Everything is so much more open this high up. _

_I'm as high as I can go. There are more branches but they won't be nearly strong enough to support my weight. I look back at the motel. From a distance it has a certain poetry to it. Not quite beauty but something almost like that. Overgrown with vines with cracks along the façade and in the pavement of the parking lot. It has its own post-apocalyptic splendor about it. It outlines the eventual triumph of the natural over the artificial; nature over mankind._

_Huh, that metaphor hits a little too close to home._

_The leaves behind me are rustling, but before I have time to turn around I feel a boot connect with my exposed back and I'm sent tumbling from the tree. I land with a thud. I'm dead, I must be. What was that, a twenty foot fall? I know I'm dead. But the grass is soft. And noticeably, ungrasslike. I unclench my eyes and look beneath me. I landed on the mattress from the motel room._

_Whistler leans over me with his black duster tied shut and his red fedora cocked at an angle. He's got the smirk of a kid who just got away with sneaking a second cookie before dinner. _

"_Training time Danny boy."_

_I slowly sit up. How the hell did he get out here with a mattress and climb all the way up the tree without me noticing. I stand up cringing and clutching my back._

"_Yeah, it's cool I wasn't really using that spine anyway." I pull my chin in either direction to crack my neck. "Training for what exactly?" I ask. It's the crack of dawn and, according to what Whistler told me last night we don't have any leads on any apocalypses._

"_The Olympics, you freak, now let's get a move on!"_

_I brush off the sarcasm. We're both pretty much masters of the craft so I just have to try and habituate myself to it._

"_Let's go Danny we don't have all day. Actually, scratch that, we _really_ do."_

_I take a deep breath. There's no way I'm training all day but if he wants to fight now, then yeah, I can do that._

_I assume a fighting stance, feet spread apart far enough for mobility and balance, one hand up by my chest for protection or momentum depending on who takes the first strike, the other out in front of me, both hands cupped in an open fist. Whistler is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet not even shoulder-length apart. The easiest thing to do will be to throw him off balance. He'll expect me to sweep his legs, so I'll hit him from the side, knock him down that way. I crouch; appear like I'm going for his legs and, at the last second I dodge to the right and lash out with my left elbow. Before I connect, he grabs my upper arm and pulls, sending me flying behind him. I hit the ground with a thud. Again. _

_The wolf is pissed. He does _not _like it when I get beat up. I shake my head to shut him up. I lay my hands flat by my head and push off the ground. I don't really know what it accomplishes but, hey, it always looked cool when Buffy did it. I resume my fighting stance and see Whistler still in his. Only now he has his back to me. I run at him at full speed, slightly bent at the waist. He can't see me but he dodges out of the way right before I can tackle him. He places his hand on my back and lightly shoves me, sending me face first into the wet grass. The wolf rattles in its mental cage._

"_Man, Dan, this is boring. I don't wanna fight you when you're fighting yourself."_

"_No complaints here." I stand up and turn to walk back to the motel._

"_Hey, where the hell you going?"_

_I turn around to face him. This is one messed up demon. "You don't want to fight me, I don't want to fight you—",_

"_I didn't say I didn't wanna fight you. Just not while you're fighting yourself. Too easy, man; no fun. Well, not for me at least. But then again, some demons out there might find kicking your ass a barrel of laughs."_

"_I can handle myself, you've seen me." The wolf is howling. He wants to prove how true that is._

"_Yeah against a tag team of some old religious guys. But in the real world? Just you and the demons; no slayer to save your ass? You're meat, man." There's no remorse in his eyes as he says this. He's not trying to get a rise out of me, he's just telling it like it is. Like he thinks it is, at least._

"_I've still got someone on my side."_

"_Big furry guy? Yeah not too bright though is he? And you don't like letting him out of his cage to play. So how is he really on your side if he's the one you're fighting? If he's the one holding you back?"_

_I can feel my blood boiling. Just like it always does before the change happens. But it's daytime. And the cycle of the full moon is already over. How can the wolf surface at a time like this? I notice that I'm starting to hyperventilate, so I slow my breathing. I haven't taken my potion today and I don't have my charms with me. I had no idea there might be a danger of this. I can still feel the wolf clawing to the surface so I close my eyes and resort to a much less mystical technique of anger management._

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…_

…_eight, nine, ten._

_I exhale. There, that wasn't so bad. I open my eyes. The sun seems to have gotten a lot brighter in the last ten seconds. I look around at the field. Pieces of wood from the picnic tables are strewn everywhere. My sweatpants are still on but they're tattered. "Thank god for small favors…" One of the things I hate most about being a werewolf is the extreme case of nudity I find I have whenever I wake up. Sometimes in relatively public forums. _

_Something occurs to me._

"_Whistler!" There's no response. I start to panic. I look down at my hands; there's blood on them. "Shit. WHISTLER! WHISTLEEER!" It's my worst nightmare come true. I've sacrificed my old life and killed the one person who can lead me through my new one. I ball up a fist and slam it into the earth._

"_Polo! Geez, whaddya blamin' the ground for?" _

_I can't even come up with the words to express how pissed off at him I am. I just stand up and start walking back to the motel._

"_Hey, Danny, buddy, relax, everything's fine. Geez don't be so quick to turn tail. See what I did there? Tail?"_

_I spin around to face him. I cannot figure this guy out. What world is he living in where he can turn me into a werewolf, make me think I killed him, and then make jokes about it. I just stare at him, knowing silence will express my feelings much better than anything I can say._

"_That's rabbit blood by the way. Yeah, you got kinda hungry after I kicked your ass in that little hundred-yard dash we had." He pauses. He always seems to have that smug grin on his face. It doesn't make me mad, it just makes me feel like he knows something that I need to know, or that I once knew, but I don't. "Then again, you don't remember that little race do you?"_

_I stay quiet. Talking isn't gonna affect this conversation one way or the other. I'll let it run it's course._

"_Why'd you change Danny boy? Sun's out; full moon isn't for another month. What was that all about?"_

"_You made me angry. You know what happens when I get angry." Okay, not crazy about the reference myself, but it's apropos._

"_I made you angry? But then, why'd the wolf come out? I didn't insult him did I?" He looks downward, cups his hands around his mouth and yells in the direction of my stomach. "Hey, fuzzball! Your mother was a Pekingese and your father had his man-bits removed before you were born! Come out and play you flea-ridden mutt!" He waits, feigning expectancy. "Huh, weird. Whaddya think that's all about?"_

_I just stare at him. I don't quite know where he's going with this but I know I'll find out. I look up at the sky._

"_Sun'll be down in a few hours."_

_He smirks. "That's when the _real _fun begins."_


End file.
